


a love that's so demanding

by slaapkat



Category: Green Lantern (Comics), Green Lantern - All Media Types
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Hal plays nursemaid, M/M, Serious Injuries, Sinestro is the worst patient ever, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22230967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slaapkat/pseuds/slaapkat
Summary: It wasn’t what Hal had been expecting, to say the least.He’s still at a loss for words when Sinestro makes to move.“Jordan,” Sinestro rasps, taking a single, staggering step forward-- and collapses in a heap on the ground.
Relationships: Hal Jordan & Thaal Sinestro, Hal Jordan/Thaal Sinestro
Comments: 24
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been in my drafts for almost a year, now, and at this point I figure the only way to finally REALLY force me to finish it is to post it, even if I have to do so chapter by chapter. My silent film au is still in the works, of course, I just wanted to have this as sort of a more direct reminder at myself to finish this.  
> In any case, I hope this is still enjoyable. Probably the longest fic I will ever write. I have about 19k words written total, and it's still incomplete. Here's hoping it's all worth it.  
> As always, a million thanks to my best buddy [ufonaut](https://ufonaut.tumblr.com/) for being there whenever I need help!

It wasn’t often that Hal was granted leave. 

The Green Lantern Corps, by its very nature, was essentially a full-time job. In fact, _several_ full time jobs _at once_. An entire sector of the universe to patrol, hundreds of thousands of planets and civilizations under your protection, including your own home planet, with only the aid of maybe _one_ other Lantern.

Space was really, _really_ fucking big. 

At least, Hal supposed he could count himself lucky to be from Earth-- whatever this planet had going for it, it had _six_ Lanterns at its disposal, himself included. That tended to spread the work out pretty evenly, considering Hal also often had to split his time between his duties as a founding member of the Justice League and occasional test pilot for Ferris Air.

Even then, all quiet on the home front usually meant some Lantern crisis out in the far reaches of space, and a peaceful sector tended to result in an international disaster that the League was forced to intervene in. All in all, lose-lose.

Which was why Hal was going to make the goddamn _most_ of this clearly well-deserved break from every single hero-related issue that might come his way. 

Guy and John were off patrolling the sector. Simon, Kyle, and Jessica respectively each had their own assignments to take care of on their respective home turfs. The League wasn’t due for a mandatory meeting for another few weeks and Coast City, for once, could be reliably entrusted in the hands of its own law enforcement. 

That left Hal the sole occupant of his comfortable, spacious studio apartment, television blaring the football game and a cold beer in his hand, the closest thing to _bliss_ he was sure he’d ever have. 

Which, of course, meant it was destined not to last for long.

Really, the night had _almost_ been completely and entirely _perfect_. The Coast City Sharks up against the Gotham Knights, a game almost not even worth watching anymore thanks to the repeated fumbles of Knights’ starter Campbell effectively giving the game to the Sharks, but Hal kept at it-- fiendishly eager for every scrap of proof that he could get that Gotham wasn’t _nearly_ as impressive as a certain unnamed spooky bastard like to claim. 

(It was nice to have a little mental one-up on the Bat that didn’t actually involve getting in his face and risk getting his clock cleaned like _Guy_ had on one memorable occasion. It allowed Hal to sit primly by at League meetings, entertaining himself though Batman’s dreadfully boring mission briefs with thoughts of _ha ha, your football team sucks._ )

And it _would_ have been perfect-- had it not been for one _minor_ detail. 

The game was nearly over. Hal was pleased at yet _another_ utter decimation of the worst football team this side of the galaxy, when the distant sound of something not unlike a sonic boom on the very edge of his hearing caught his attention.

Not an altogether unusual noise, most times. Edwards Air Force Base was near enough that such a thing wasn’t _too_ uncommon. 

No, what _is_ unusual is the way the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stand on end, goosebumps alighting all over Hal’s skin. _Fear_ , but not quite, a sensation Hal was intimately familiar with. Why _here_ \--

Hal’s thoughts are interrupted by a near deafening crashing on his balcony, the force of the impact enough to rattle every window in their frames, and a flash of bright yellow light that bathes the entirety of the room for all of a split second. Hal jumps up instantly, scrabbling through the drawers of his coffee table in search of his ring and cursing his unfortunate habit of just dropping it _anywhere_ whenever he was given the slightest break from work. 

He finds the ring and slips it on just in time to turn around-- and stop dead in his tracks. 

There, in the balcony doorway, was _Sinestro_.

Hal gapes, because-- it _is_ Sinestro, and yet it’s _not_. 

He’s leaning heavily against the doorframe, breathing harsh and haggard. Dark purple blood trails down the side of his face from a cut above his brow, from his nose, from a split in his lip, and a myriad of other cuts and scrapes, a darkening bruise underneath his eye. His left arm hangs limply at his side, his right pressed firmly against an apparent wound in his abdomen, even more blood welling up in between his fingers with each ragged breath. He’s staring at Hal, obviously doing his best to muster up a threatening glare despite the immensity of the effort it was clearly taking to even remain standing, his usual sharp golden gaze now dulled with pain.

It wasn’t what Hal had been expecting, to say the least.

He’s still at a loss for words when Sinestro makes to move.

“Jordan,” Sinestro rasps, taking a single, staggering step forward-- and collapses in a heap on the ground. 

Silence reigns once more, and Hal is still frozen in place, eyes wide at the sight before him, still yet to comprehend a single part of it.

It’s only the steadily growing pool of blood spreading out beneath Sinestro’s prone and motionless form that finally spurs Hal into action.

“Sinestro…?” Hal tries, landing at his knees, hands hovering hesitantly over Sinestro’s body, reluctant to touch just yet. Tentatively, he reaches out to nudge his shoulder. No reaction. Blood continues to soak into the rug beneath him. Hal feels the first inklings of panic beginning to take hold.

Because-- what was he supposed to do? _Should_ he even do anything at all?

Sinestro was a _terrorist_. Sinestro was a _despot_. Sinestro had tried to _kill_ him on multiple occasions. Sinestro was, by all rights, _evil_. His Yellow Lanterns were a veritable scourge on the universe, and his repeated associations more than a few significant Earth villains made him an enemy of this planet _specifically_. 

Hal should call the League. Hal should call the Green Lanterns. Hal should call _somebody_. 

Hal could let him die. No one would blame him. 

Hal-- doesn’t do any of that. He _can’t_ do any of that. 

What Hal does, instead, is grab Sinestro by his underarms, and haul him up.

Or, he attempts to, anyways. For all his apparent leaness, his lithe and catlike proportions, the bastard was surprisingly goddamned _heavy_. Hal grunts as he sets Sinestro back down, still worryingly limp in his arms, and steps back, a burst of light from his ring manifesting as a glowing green stretcher underneath Sinestro’s body and lifting him up. 

Sinestro is quickly moved to Hal’s bed, blankets and pillows shoved out of the way to allow for more space, deposited with as much care as Hal can manage with his rapidly mounting panic.

“Ring,” Hal orders. “Medical scan, _now_.”

Soft green light sweeps back and forth over Sinestro as Hal stands by and anxiously waits for the low hum indicating the completion of the scan.

_Dislocation of left shoulder. Hairline fracture of left ulna. Multiple lacerations and abrasions. Multiple contusions. Minor concussion. Bruised ribs, three cracked. Stab wound in lower right abdomen. Second degree right ankle sprain._

“Jesus,” Hal can’t help but hiss in sympathy. “What the hell did you do to deserve this?”

A lot, probably. If anything, Sinestro got exactly what was coming to him. Unfortunately, gloating over karma finally getting its turn didn’t change the fact that Sinestro was now _bleeding out_ in his _bed_ instead of just on the floor, and unless he did something about that and _quickly_ , Sinestro’s ring would be searching for a new owner _very_ soon. 

_Warning: Blood loss approaching critical levels._

“I know!” Hal snaps, impatient; he could have guessed that already from the way Sinestro had passed out the second he showed up and continued to bleed all over the place anyways. “ _I know!_ Advise! Best course of action!”

_Cauterize primary source of bleeding._

“Okay, okay! Do that!” Hal says quickly as he tears more of Sinestro’s uniform away from the still-bleeding gash, hardly paying any mind to the warm, sticky blood quickly coating his fingers, raising a fist to aim the ring. The gash was wide and jagged, ugly around the edges and losing blood _fast_ ; whatever he’d been stabbed with hadn’t been pretty in the least. “Focused energy beam, _now_.”

Concentrated green energy shoots from the ring at Hal’s order, and in that same instant Sinestro’s eyes snap open, back arching sharply as he cries out in guttural pain. Hal swears, nose wrinkling against the smell of burning flesh, and additional constructs appear to hold Sinestro down before he inadvertently triggers his yellow ring’s defense mechanisms in his thrashings of animalistic, blind panic. Sinestro strains against the bindings regardless, unaware of his surroundings save for the primal need to _escape_. It takes every single scrap of Hal’s willpower to keep him down _and_ keep his ring steady; Sinestro passes out once more soon enough anyways, going limp with a sharp intake of breath, though whether it’s from pain or continued blood loss Hal can’t tell. 

It’s hauntingly silent when his ring finally alerts him Sinestro is more or less tentatively stable, and Hal struggles to think past the hammering of his heart in his ears. 

He’d just— he’d _saved_ Sinestro’s life. And for what? _Why?_

He shoves the thought aside. Sinestro’s not _quite_ saved yet; the major bleeding had been stopped, but the wound remained more or less open, sluggishly weeping blood from whatever Hal had missed. There remained all his _other_ injuries, too, which Hal hadn’t even _begun_ to consider. 

Well. One step at a time. 

There’s a moment of hesitation before he leaves Sinestro’s bedside to grab gauze and bandages, years of backstabbing and betrayal leaving him reluctant to turn his back. It’s only when Hal stops to really take in the situation— Sinestro’s bruised and battered body, his torn and bloodied uniform, his shallow, rasping breathing —that he finally steels himself and turns away. 

They _had_ been friends, once. Even Sinestro could admit to that. Hal did his best to remember. 

\---

Life as a _hero_ quickly taught Hal to have a well-stocked first-aid kit. While his ring protected him from _most_ injury and damage, it didn’t hurt to be prepared for the few occasions that it _didn’t_. 

Now, while Hal wasn’t even _remotely_ qualified to be a doctor, he was _fairly_ passable at basic dressings, and his ring could guide him through whatever else. It would have to be sufficient for the time being. 

Gauze was packed around the wound, haphazardly stitched closed with the aid of his ring, held in place by bandages which wrapped around Sinestro’s slim torso. All the other smaller cuts and scrapes were cleaned and bandaged similarly to the best of Hal’s limited ability. 

(Hal considers it a small grace Sinestro was out cold throughout all of it, the unintended and glaring intimacy of tending to his shirtless, unconscious, best frenemy’s injuries not at all lost on him.)

Sinestro’s other comparatively major injuries remained an issue. Lacking many other options on what was his likely soon-to-regrettable one-man crusade to save the ex-Lantern’s life, Hal resorts to simply… wrapping them up. Something he already knows he’s supposed to do for a sprained ankle, less so for an apparently fractured arm. As long as it’s stiff enough to provide support, prevent movement and thus further injury, Hal is at least _ninety percent_ sure it’ll be fine.

It’s a statistic mildly supported by his ring, so Hal considers that a point for him. 

The only other time Sinestro briefly comes to is when Hal sets about reducing his shoulder into position, thankfully made somewhat easier by Sinestro’s state of unconsciousness and limp, otherwise relaxed body. The joint slides back with a dull, sickening pop, and Sinestro jolts awake with a choked gasp for air, entire body tensing before his eyes roll back into his head and he’s out once more. Hal fashions some kind of makeshift sling to hold the arm in place on the off chance Sinestro does, eventually, wake up, and stands back to admire his handiwork. 

Sinestro is more than a little banged up, significantly worse for wear, missing most of his golden Sinestro Corps adornments, but breathing and _alive_. Hal is allowed to be proud of himself for that, isn’t he?

The temptation to call someone more qualified to hold a despotic, murdering alien in captivity remains. The crisis is over, Hal knows. He has no _real_ excuse to keep Sinestro here, now. He’s stabilized, he’s alive, and he can answer for his crimes. 

And yet…

Surely, it would be prudent to know _what_ , exactly, Sinestro had been up to to deserve such a thorough beating? Specifically, what had brought him to _Hal’s_ place in the _first_ place. Of course, it was probably even safer to keep him here, anyways. After all, who knew when the rest of his Yellow Lantern cohorts would come looking for him. Better to keep it out of the way of the League and the Guardians in order to avoid any unnecessary bloodshed.

Plus, it never hurt to be owed a favor.

Yeah, that made sense. Mental high-five for Hal Jordan. 

His eyes slide over to Sinestro’s gleaming, yellow ring of their own accord. The thought occurred that he could just _take_ it, save himself the trouble of any possible attacks should Sinestro awaken, but there was no telling what, if any, defense measures had been encoded into it by its master. 

“Ring,” Hal says cautiously, addressing his own while continuing to eye Sinestro’s warily. “Estimate power levels of the Yellow Lantern.”

_Power levels estimated to be less than three percent. All remaining power directed towards life support._

“Huh,” Hal says absently, mulling it over. He elects to let Sinestro keep it, in that case. Likely for the better, anyways.

He supposes he can trust the ring to help keep Sinestro alive in the meantime, and subsequently hopes he’s sure he can trust Sinestro _generally_.

A little show of trust never hurt anybody. It was, unfortunately, Hal’s greatest fault whenever it came to his former mentor. 

A glance towards the clock on his nightstand made him groan inwardly; it was well past midnight at this point, and _Hal_ in all his genius had given up his bed to an unconscious _alien_. While no stranger to sleeping on couches, it didn’t mean he had to _like_ it. He could only hope he knew what the hell he was doing.

\---

It’s with no small amount of reluctance that Hal turns to leave his bedroom and a presumably sleeping Sinestro behind, exhaustion wearing on him fast in the absence of all the previous excitement. He swears aloud when he returns to the living room, because in spite of his extremely crushing desire to sleep, he can’t even do _that_ just yet.

It looks like nothing short of a murder scene, blood splattered and soaked into the rug and floor, furniture toppled over and broken on his balcony. Hell, it even looked like _Hal_ had been the one doing the murdering, looking down at himself and his hands in distaste to evidence of Sinestro’s vibrantly-colored blood all over him. The ring was useless in that particular endeavor, forcing Hal to get to work if he wanted any sleep at all.

Not to mention, the deposit back when and if he ever has to move out.

\---

It’s close to three AM when Hal finally allows himself to pass out on his couch, the better part of the night spent scrubbing the blood from his home with furious abandon and fervently hoping that whatever Korugarian blood was made of didn’t show up in forensic exams should he ever happen to actually be investigated for murder. 

Not that Hal actually expects that to happen, but it never hurts to be prepared. 

The rug Sinestro had landed on and subsequently bled all over was a total loss, to Hal’s _immense_ regret, thrown out along with the old sheets on Hal’s bed (the mattress merely flipped over, a still-unconscious Sinestro hovering briefly above on a cushioned construct while Hal worked), and everything else was left with a vaguely-discolored irregular stains that Hal couldn’t get rid of despite his best efforts. Nothing another rug couldn’t fix.

All of that, followed by a very _long_ , very _hot_ shower, left Hal tired enough to hardly make it back to his couch. 

He’s still not sure if he’s doing the right thing, unable to name _what_ it was that was making him do all this without question. The League ought to know, the _Guardians_ ought to know. 

But what _Hal_ wants to know was why _Sinestro_ came to _him_.

Part of Hal wants to think Sinestro _had_ to have come to him for a reason. The rest of him knows it’s silly to worry about whether Sinestro even still cares about him at all.

\---

It feels far, _far_ too early when Hal wakes up, groaning against the sunlight streaming in through his windows, even though a look at the clock hanging on his wall confirms it to be close to noon.

It takes a second for his memories to sluggishly catch up, bolting up on the couch in the middle of blearily rubbing at his eyes when Hal abruptly remembers _Sinestro_ is in his _home_. He strains his ears against the suddenly deafening silence, and hears only the distant, muffled noises of the Coast City traffic outside. 

It’s not exactly as comforting as Hal hopes it would be. Silence was as much of an indicator that things have gone wrong as it was of nothing having changed at all. Still, he sits there for a moment longer, idly debating how much of last night was actually a dream, before he finally gets up to resolve the issue of _Schrodinger’s power-mad alien_ for himself.

A small sigh of relief escapes him when Hal sees Sinestro is right where he left him, laid out on his bed, now surrounded by a soft yellow glow-- thanks to what Hal can only assume to be the last remaining vestiges of his ring’s power dedicating itself solely to ensuring its wearer remained well. 

He’s-- unconscious, still. Or asleep. It’s hard for Hal to tell, and he’s not all that keen to check. Keeping Sinestro here has already left him with a confusing slew of emotions to deal with, and he’s equally as unwilling to examine all of _those_ in any real depth, either. Concern for someone who used to be his friend, worry over whether he was doing the right thing, fear that this was just going to end up biting him in the ass when it was all over with. 

Sinestro’s expression is pinched in pain, but his breathing had evened out. It’s no longer quite so shallow, or quite so labored. A slight rasp remained as an indication of just how thoroughly beaten down Sinestro had been, both inside and out.

Hal stands there in the doorway for longer than he cares to admit, just… looking.

Bruises had bloomed all over Sinestro in earnest since Hal had left him, mottling the magenta-colored skin all over his chest and arms with blotches of various, sickening shades of purple. Hal can’t help but grimace in sympathy after taking it all in; a few bruised or cracked ribs on top of everything else was sure to make Sinestro all the more _friendly_ when he eventually woke up. 

“Ring,” Hal says absently. “How much power does he have left?”

_Power levels estimated to be less than zero point eight percent._

“How’s, uh,” Hal pauses, clearing his throat. It’s normal to be worried. Obviously. It’s nothing more than professional concern. “How’s he doing?”

_Sinestro Corps member 1417 is stable and under ring-induced sedation._

Sedation was probably a good idea, given the severity of Sinestro’s injuries, and would likely run out as soon as the ring did. Hal would just have to be ready for that. 

But. Sinestro seemed to be doing fine, for now. Despite what others may think of him, Hal _was_ capable of a little patience every now and then. Hal-- _cared_ , still, as much as he hated the thought. Sinestro would wake up, and Hal would be there. The only question was _when_. 

\---

Hal gets his answer later that day.

It doesn’t take too much longer for the yellow ring to fully deplete. Hal putters aimlessly around his apartment until his ring alerts him with a low _power levels reaching zero point zero percent_ , almost begrudgingly so, and Hal can’t help let out a small huff of laughter; evidently even his own ring had its own doubts about Hal’s bright idea. 

The faint glow that had been surrounding Sinestro’s body when Hal has last checked on him is already beginning to fade away to nothing by the time he walks back in. Hal, however, hangs in the doorway, hesitating. Maybe-- maybe he should see what happens, first.

The light recedes, slowly drawing back towards the ring, leaching out of Sinestro’s body towards its source like a parasite draining the life force from its host.

Hal has to fight back a snort; a chillingly apt comparison, considering the entity that powers it. 

The yellow ring pulses once as the last of the light is drawn in, then finally goes dim and cold. Hal holds his breath. 

At first, nothing changes. Sinestro’s breathing remains low and steady, his eyes remain closed, his body, otherwise, remains still. Maybe he really _is_ just sleeping it off.

Hal is about to turn away when he hears Sinestro’s breath catch, a sharp and sudden inhalation that stops short. He flinches against something unseen and his breathing stutters as he slowly dredges himself back to consciousness, twitches of his expression belying it as a journey unwillingly pushed by _pain_. 

Sinestro awakes with a small, quiet gasp. His eyes flutter open, staring blearily at the ceiling above him. 

It’s obvious he doesn’t know where he is, maybe doesn’t even _remember_ how he got there, evidenced by the way he immediately tenses, going utterly still to the point of holding his breath as he slowly begins to take stock of this unfamiliar environment he’s found himself in; Hal finds himself holding his breath right alongside Sinestro, wary of whatever reaction he may have.

Sinestro draws in a breath and cringes, a hiss of pain escaping through grit teeth as the extent of his injuries finally catches up to him. He tries to sit up only to fall back against the pillows with a bitten back grunt, and seemingly unheeding of the pain it caused him-- only growls and tries _again_. Worried that Sinestro would only end up hurting himself more than he already was, Hal took that as his cue to finally make himself known. 

“ _Woah_ , hey, cool your jets,” Hal says quickly, jumping forward to stop Sinestro with an outstretched hand before he could fumble his way out of bed and, more than likely, straight onto the floor. 

Sinestro’s head snaps up and his lips instantly curl into a snarl, teeth bared in fury. He makes to swat Hal’s hand away only to suddenly realize he _can’t_ , his left arm wrapped in a sling, the length of his forearm further bound up to his wrist, rendering the limb otherwise immobile and useless, shoulder lancing with pain when he attempts to move it regardless. 

“ _What--_ ” Sinestro gasps, his face contorting with confusion and anger and _pain_ when he continues to try and shake off Hal’s touch despite all that, hissing and gasping when each twist and turn only serves to pull on and aggravate his injuries and exacerbate his irritation. His fist clenches, but startles when he realizes his ring is deaf to his commands. “What have you _done_ to me, Jordan? Where am I? Release me!”

“I _said_ cool your jets!” Hal finally snaps, a construct bursting from his ring and forcing Sinestro to _sit back_. Sinestro only struggles against it for a moment more before ultimately relenting, glowering up at Hal like a sullen child. Hal glares right back, and huffs with annoyance. “You don’t remember?”

“Should I?” Sinestro snaps back, and writhes against the construct with renewed fervor. “ _Where am I?_ ”

That was the concussion, then. Hal frowns, but the construct keeps up. He might as well tell him the truth right out. No sense in giving Sinestro any more reason to hate him, as nonsensical as the notion felt. 

“You _really_ don’t remember?” Hal clarifies, confirmed when Sinestro only narrows his eyes and deepens his scowl. “Yikes. Okay, well. First off, _you_ came to _me_. Showed up on my doorstep all beat to shit and promptly proceeded to pass out and almost bled out on my floor. To answer your question: you’re in my apartment, laid out on my bed.” At Sinestro’s barely withheld recoil of disgust, Hal continues with a sigh. “My sheets are _clean_ , by the way. You kind of _bled_ all over my other ones. Anyways, I did nothing except, maybe, I don’t know, save your life? You’re _welcome_ for that.”

Sinestro’s sharply arched brows furrow and he finally stops struggling against the construct, confusion flickering over his expression; if Hal had to guess, he’d say Sinestro was currently grappling with the fact he’d actually managed to swallow his pride for once and asked _Hal_ for _help_. 

(Or that he’d tried, anyways, considering Hal had taken most of it upon himself.)

What must be a dawning horrified realization as he seems to finally remember pretty much doing _exactly_ that causes Sinestro’s eyes to widen in shock before he schools his expression back down to his usual annoyed indifference, lip curling in distaste.

“Release me,” he orders flatly. Hal makes a face.

“Uh, no,” Hal says. “Not until you promise you aren’t going to make a break for it. You’ll only end up busting your ass if you do, trust me.”

“ _Release me!_ ” Sinestro hisses, beginning to squirm again until Hal tightens the construct around him slightly, just enough to put pressure on any of the dozens of cuts and bruises littering his body and force him to reconsider his actions.

“ _No_ ,” Hal repeats, intent. “Listen, you lost a _lot_ of blood. You obviously went through a _lot_ of abuse. The longer this goes on, the worse you’re going to feel once you finally calm down. I _will_ release you, but only if you _stay_ there.”

Hal lets his statement hang in the air for a moment longer, waiting for Sinestro to make any further protests. When the minutes tick by and Sinestro remains still, Hal pulls the construct back, the light fading away, though he remained wary. Thankfully, Sinestro stays where he is, even if he looks no more happier for it. 

Silence, however, persists. Not wanting for this to turn into the world’s worst staring contest, Hal sighs and takes the first shot. “So. You feel up to telling me what happened?”

Sinestro’s eyes narrow again, and he looks away, scowling. Alright, so the silent treatment, apparently. His pride proved a little more stubborn than Hal thought. That’s okay, though. Hal had all the time in the world. 

“What do you want?” Sinestro asks sharply after another moment of silence, gaze latching onto Hal once more. Hal is so surprised by the question he can only blink in confusion.

“ _What--_ ”

“You claim to have saved my life” Sinestro continues, insistent. Clearly desperate for some kind of an explanation, just not the one he’d been given. “Why?”

“Geez, I don’t know,” Hal retorts sardonically, rolling his eyes. “Maybe a little thing us humans like to call _altruism_? But, I mean, if it makes you feel any better, it _does_ feel nice to think you kind of owe me a favor, now. How’s that?”

“I owe you _nothing_ ,” Sinestro spits. “You act as though I _asked_ for this--”

“Uh, you kind of did. You’re the one that crash-landed in my home, remember?” Hal points out, growing frustrated despite himself. “You act as though _I_ asked for this. You _at least_ owe me a new rug. The last one looks like I tried to murder Grimace, thanks to you.”

That, somehow, finally gets Sinestro to shut up, jaw snapping shut with an audible _click_ , though whether it’s the apparent nonsensical nature of his words or the recurring unfortunate truth that Sinestro really _had_ sought him out, Hal doesn’t know. Whatever the reason, he’s _quiet_ , and that’s all Hal wants.

“I really, _honestly_ , just wanted to help,” Hal explains, slowly, cringing at himself. “I’m-- willing to help _further_ , even. If you need to lie low for a bit--”

“I need nothing,” Sinestro says curtly, pushing blankets off him. His scowl deepens when he sees his wrapped ankle, boots removed to accommodate it. He sat himself up, expression forcibly blank against the pain, his voice tight as he deliberately avoids Hal’s eyes and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. “Your… _assistance_ is no longer necessary. I’m leaving.” When Sinestro makes to stand, Hal rushes forward again to stop him; the staying hand is met with a withering glare. Were it not for the still-swollen black eye and the bandaged cut above his brow ( _Hello Kitty_ , because it wasn’t like Sinestro would know the difference and Hal never wasted an opportunity to be petty), it might have actually been intimidating. 

“I’m serious,” says Hal, frustration mounting. “You’ve got a dead ring and you’re barely hanging on as it is, yourself. If you would just _listen--_ ”

“You think a dead ring is enough to keep me captive?” Sinestro challenges, haughty, and Hal can only bury his face in his hands because _boy_ is this pointy-eared bastard missing the point _hard_. All this effort just to prove he’s not as bad off as Hal _knows_ he is. “You can’t keep me from leaving.”

God, _fine_. Hal groans and throws his hands up in exasperation. “You’re right! I can’t!” 

Sinestro stops short, whatever smart retort he had dying on his tongue in the face of the shock of Hal seemingly giving up so easily.

“I _will_ ,” Sinestro insists haltingly, a veneer of false bravado. Hal cocks an eyebrow, and shrugs.

“Okay. I won’t stop you.”

Those glowing-golden eyes narrow suspiciously, clearly skeptical of the concept of simply being _allowed_ to leave. Hal knew Sinestro to have little trust of others, and for admittedly good reason, but even _this_ was encroaching on ridiculous.

“Very well,” Sinestro says, jutting his chin up in self-superiority as though pleased with himself. As though he’d actually _won_. Hal only smiled back plainly, taking a polite step backwards to give Sinestro space. 

Still wary, but far more eager to escape his supposed imprisonment despite his myriad of injuries, Sinestro only scoffs and stands.

And, for a second, everything _does_ seem fine.

He stands tall and proud, as always, exuding a palpable air of superiority and arrogance, sneering down at Hal for daring to doubt him. For a second, Hal is almost impressed. 

Then, Sinestro takes a single, deliberate step forward. 

Sinestro sways slightly, but forces himself steady. The next step, foolishly attempted with the freshly-sprained ankle, isn’t so lucky. 

The only warning given is a tightly bitten-back grunt of pain. Sinestro wobbles and sways, eyes glazing over briefly as the head rush from standing finally catches up to him, before his leg abruptly gives out from beneath him and he falls heavily to the ground. 

Hal leaps forward in a panic, attempting to catch him but ultimately proving to be too late. Sinestro just about _crashes_ face-first straight onto the floor, unable to even catch himself through the extremely unfortunate combination of blood loss-induced dizziness and loss of the use of his dominant arm to stop every part of him from impacting _directly_ with the ground. 

Sinestro, for his credit, is incredibly experienced at hiding his pain when he needs to, though telltale signs of his agony remain difficult to conceal entirely. Sinestro’s jaw is clenched tight and his nostrils flare with sharp, tightly controlled breaths, sweat beading at his temples, face ashen; jarring his shoulder like that couldn’t have been fun, nor jostling those ribs. Hal swears and moves Sinestro onto his back, ignoring his choked growls of protest, surreptitiously checking over his cuts should the fall have inadvertently caused any of them to rip back open; luckily, none of his bandages are stained with telltale bright spots of purple, and Hal can afford himself a brief sigh of relief.

“Do you believe me now?” Hal snaps, helping Sinestro sit up, though there’s little actual venom to speak of in his voice, and his words soften despite his best efforts. “Sinestro, you’re _hurt_. You’re lucky you didn’t bust your stitches. If you could just-- tell me what happened, maybe I could help? Or, I don’t know, I could try. We’ll see.”

“What happened to me is no one’s business but my own,” Sinestro pants, and Hal figures he may as well give up. He helps Sinestro back into bed anyways. 

For all his posturing, Sinestro doesn’t resist any further, nor does he put up any sort of fight. He sags against the pillows, clearly exhausted and unwillingly so, still yet to catch his breath or even completely recover from his fall, pain lingering in every tense line of his body. Hal-- hates it. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Sinestro driven so low. His teacher, his mentor, his _friend_ , his enemy-- the Lantern he once looked up to as being the _greatest_. 

“Oh, cease your pitying,” Sinestro grouses, and Hal only realizes then he’d been staring. 

“I don’t pity you,” Hal says, crossing his arms and finally looking away. “Far from it, in fact. But, I do… _care_ , about you, despite your best efforts to convince me otherwise. Despite my _own_ best efforts to convince myself otherwise. My offer stands.”

He lets it hang in the air, waiting for Sinestro to decide. “Nobody knows you’re here,” Hal adds lightly. “I haven’t-- told the League, or the other Lanterns, or _anybody_. No one’s followed you here, either.”

Sinestro’s suspicion don’t wane in the slightest, and Hal begins to feel himself grasping at straws. The only thing left, perhaps, was playing at Sinestro’s sense of pride. Dangerous in itself, really. Doing so stood equal chance of inciting further wrath as much as it did reminding Sinestro that accepting help wasn’t as bitter a pill as he feared. Sinestro hated showing weakness just as much as he hated admitting it. Hal would have to take his chances. 

“In any case, are you so sure you want your _own_ Corps to see you like this? Weak and beaten?”

 _That_ finally manages to get Sinestro’s attention. Unfortunately, just not in the way Hal had wanted. He glares daggers at Hal and forces himself to sit up _again_ , sneering as though personally offended Hal would ever _dare_ to suggest such a thing. 

“I am neither _weak_ nor _beaten_ , you green _fool_ ,” Sinestro hisses, stubbornly making another break for it despite Hal’s harried protests. He pushes back against Hal, growling threats and snarling insults as he fights to stand in a last ditch effort to save his wounded pride. “You think me so small? I’ve endured _far_ worse than this! I’ve commanded _Parallax!_ I-- _oh_.”

He’s cut off as he sways and stumbles forward, immediately collapsing into Hal’s arms without warning, a puppet whose strings had been suddenly and abruptly cut. Hal swears and struggles against the sudden dead weight, manhandling Sinestro back into bed with maybe a little less care than before out of sheer irritation. 

“Is it _really_ so hard to listen to me?” Hal mutters, patting at Sinestro’s cheek none-too-carefully to guide him back to the world of the living. “You’re _literally_ running on fumes, buddy. How many times are you gonna fight me on this before you learn you’re only gonna black out as _soon_ as you stand up?”

“I’m-- I’m _not_ your--” Sinestro slurs, head lolling as he gradually comes to again. He tries to glare, but can’t seem to decide on which Hal to focus on.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hal waves him off, his tone more gentle than intended, but he can’t find it in himself to feel too terribly self-conscious about it. “ _I’m not your buddy, pal. I ain’t your pal, friend_. You sure _this_ is really want to waste your energy on? All I’m asking is that you at _least_ stick around until you’re no longer in danger of keeling over.” They _had_ been friends. He’s sure he can afford this, just once. It’s hard to feel that ever-persistent on-again-off-again hatred for Sinestro when he’s-- like this. 

Again, Hal’s thoughts stray towards how Sinestro had come to _him_. Despite all their differences, despite all the times Sinestro _swore_ he would kill him in the heat of battle-- he’d still catapulted himself across the entire reaches of space for _help_.

Or, Hal assumed, anyways. 

(It wouldn’t be the first time, technically, Sinestro had done the same right after going Green again. Regardless of the fact that it had been with the ulterior motive of retaking both his home planet _and_ his Corps, it hadn’t changed that Sinestro saw Hal and _only_ Hal as the one person within the Green Lanterns that he could trust, maybe even the only person he trusted _period_.)

At least Sinestro appeared to finally accept his situation, if only for now. 

“Fine,” he relents, visibly weary even after regaining his senses. “I’ll-- stay. Until I’ve sufficiently recovered enough to face my people in confidence once more.”

“Really? What finally convinced you?” Hal flashes a grin, only _slightly_ smug. “Let me guess, was it my good looks and charming personality?”

Sinestro only glowered back. Hal keeps grinning. 

“Hardly. I’ve simply come to the conclusion that this… _hospitality_ of yours is far preferencial to that of a cell,” comes the eventual answer, reluctantly given and even more begrudgingly said. “I will accept your offer out of pure necessity. Nothing more. I endeavor to make myself scarce the second I am able.”

“Fair enough,” Hal agrees with a somewhat lopsided grin. “ _Deal_. Now, please just…” Hal’s voice softens, beholden to that deep part of him that still considered Sinestro his friend. “...Get some rest, okay?”

Sinestro huffs in irritation, but says nothing more. He’s hurt and in pain and _mad_ \-- but exhausted and weak above all else on top of that. Even if he _wanted_ too, he stood no chance of resisting if Hal chose to change his mind and take him back to the sciencells on Oa, instead.

As far as Hal saw it, Sinestro sticking around out of necessity was better than not sticking around at all. At least _here_ , he could keep an eye on him. 

Hal could tell he was putting up a valiant fight, but it was a losing battle that Sinestro was fighting against his fatigue, not at all helped by his two attempts at ‘freedom’ combined with his general state of disrepair. 

He could also just as easily tell that Sinestro was stubbornly forcing himself to stay awake, glaring at him through half-lidded eyes, unwilling to make himself so vulnerable just yet in Hal’s presence. Hal sighs, running a hand down his face. Sinestro’s sense of trust pointed in odd directions at times. 

“I’ll… leave you to it, then,” Hal says, suddenly and decidedly awkward. “Um. Holler if you need anything?”

Sinestro stares back in steely silence.

“Yeah, okay. Good talk,” Hal shrugs, and turns to leave.

\---

Luckily for Hal, Sinestro ends up sleeping most of that first day and night away. Days, possibly even _weeks_ of exhaustion catching up on him all at once so that his body can finally _heal_. 

Hal checks on him occasionally, if only to make sure he’s still breathing.

Each and every time, Sinestro is fast asleep, and each and every time it’s no less oddly entrancing.

It’s the most relaxed he’s ever seen Sinestro-- although, granted, that was a somewhat relative term to begin with, his expression even then still pinched in discomfort, curled in on himself, his body tensed in persisting pain. It’s certainly the only time Hal’s ever seen Sinestro actually _sleeping_ in all the years he’s known him. 

Even back during his Green Lantern days, Hal couldn’t remember ever seeing Sinestro around the barracks on Oa, and the one and only time Hal had been allowed on Korugar had been disastrous for _everyone_ involved. If Sinestro even had a bed to call his own, Hal’s never seen him make use of it. 

A Lantern ring was capable of staving off the body’s needs for as long as the wearer thought necessary, whether it was sleep, hunger, thirst or more. It wasn’t used too often by most-- many preferred the comfort of a hearty meal or a good night’s sleep, not to mention the mental strain of staying up for days at a time could wear on a person regardless of how well rested the ring made them feel. It was meant to be used primarily on missions or on patrol, less so in day-to-day life. It was a drain on both the body and the ring itself. That Sinestro slept so deeply and for so long despite his claimed distrust and disrespect of Hal and his help spoke of just how long it had been since he’d actually had a real moment to _rest_. 

Maybe it was even the only time Sinestro could afford to sleep without the threat of betrayal always in the back of his mind. The Sinestro Corps were ruthless and close to unbeatable, sure, but the loyalty for most only extended as far as how much they believed Sinestro _deserved_ to be followed in the first place. Many wouldn’t hesitate to kill Sinestro given the chance if it meant becoming the leader of the Corps in his place and consolidating all that power for themselves. It’s happened more than once.

The one drawback to ruling by fear, if Hal had to guess.

\---

It’s _beyond_ early when Hal’s ring alerts him to the fact that Sinestro is beginning to stir. Hal stretches from where he had passed out on his couch _again_ and groans as he tries to rub out the resulting crick in his neck; he would have to make the effort of actually making a decent bed out of it with _real_ pillows and blankets before too long. That, or force Sinestro to trade places. Somehow, Hal figures the latter unlikely to happen anytime soon.

Given the downright _acerbic_ mood of the Korugarian the day before, Hal decides that a sort of peace offering is in order. Sinestro’s bound to be a _little_ hungry after all that time. 

The only problem-- it’s been _weeks_ since Hal has been home in any significant capacity, and as such the pickings are considerately slim. An unopened package of salted crackers, half a six-pack of beer, and his leftover Chinese takeout remains from the night before. Hal frowns as he stares at his empty fridge and even emptier pantry. In his defense, he _had_ been planning a trip to the store before this whole mess got started. 

Hal settles for the crackers and a glass of tap water. He’s not _entirely_ sure what Korugarian’s can or can’t eat, and finds it hard to understand anything his ring said about their physiology other than _‘humanoid’_ and _‘omnivorous’_. So, crackers. It at least had the added benefit of (presumably) being easy on the stomach.

Sinestro is just waking as Hal walks in, eyes hazy and unfocused in that sleep-drunk way of someone who had slept in _far_ past than what was their habit, unaware of Hal’s presence just yet. He groggily struggles to sit himself up and Hal stops in his tracks as he-- _yawns_. 

Sharp, pointed canines slide out from Sinestro’s lips and make themselves known as his jaw stretches past the point of what’s certainly considered _humanly_ possible, in a wide encompassing yawn that’s distinctly feline in appearance when combined with the long, tapered points of his elfin ears and the inhuman glow of his piercing yellow eyes. 

Hal, very briefly, feels like he’s _losing his mind_.

He’s always been vaguely aware of the differences between them. Sinestro’s bright crimson skin being the most obvious, followed by the pointed ears that pricked and twitched in subtle indication of his inner emotions, his sharply arched brows which gave him a constant disapproving air, and shining golden irises against the inky black sclera of his eyes. Often, the bigger differences were all that Hal had time to register-- there were so many alien species Hal ran into on a daily basis as a Green Lantern that the novelty of gawking wore off pretty quickly. It was the subtler differences that had taken Hal longer to notice-- Sinestro’s slightly exaggerated proportions, his graceful figure, the way he _moved_ , deliberate and controlled, like big cat on the prowl.

And, of course, the _teeth_. 

Sure, Hal had _known_ , Sinestro liked to snarl and bare his teeth at every transgression to come his way, but he’d never seen it so-- _casually_.

He’s not quite sure what keeps him ogling for so long, eyes locked onto the whole sight until Sinestro finally takes notice of him and it’s like a switch is flipped. The change is instantaneous, Sinestro’s expression hardening and whatever shred of softness he’d unintentionally shown shuttering behind a withering glare. It’s enough to pull Hal out of his reverie, but not _quite_ enough for his mind to catch up beyond the singular thought of _holy shit_. 

“I, uh,” Hal says haltingly, then suddenly remembers what’s in his hands, holding the crackers and water out. “Thought you might want something to eat?”

Sinestro makes no move to accept the offering, now scowling. Okay, fair enough, it was kind of pathetic anyways. Hal sets them on the nightstand instead. 

“I… hope you’re feeling better?” More silence. Hal frowns. Tries again. “How’s the arm?”

The only acknowledgement Sinestro gives him is a flicker of eyes down at the afflicted arm, wrapped in bracing bandages and held in a sling, before they center back on Hal with deliberate indifference. Hal sighs and rubs the back of his neck.

“Look, I know you don’t-- _want_ to be here, but I _am_ legitimately just trying to help you,” Hal mutters, looking away, and if he sounds more than a little plaintive he doesn’t dwell on the thought for long. “I know you’re in pain and hurting, even if you won’t admit it. I also know you had to have come to me for a reason, even if you won’t admit to _that_ , either. So why don’t you stop being such a _colossal_ asshole and help me help you? Maybe?”

A glance back at Sinestro shows that he’s still staring, considering him, his expression carefully controlled but-- not quite as scathing, though that could have just as easily been Hal’s imagination. He’ll take what he can get. 

At least something seemed to be finally getting through to Sinestro, tempering his attitude enough that he gave no further reaction besides a slight narrowing of the eyes when Hal chose then to sit himself on the edge of the bed, nodding towards the swath of bandages wrapped around Sinestro’s abdomen. “How’s that, at least?”

Sinestro stares a little more, as though apprehensive, and sits himself up fully, cringing with the effort as the movement pulls on the wound and every other injury still actively paining him, maybe now even worse than the night before thanks to his previous antics. Spots of purple had bled through the layers of gauze. “Uncomfortable,” Sinestro states bluntly, lip curling. _Yeah, understatement of the century._ Hal pulls out his first aid supplies from where he had stashed them earlier and reached for where he’d fastened the bandages, only to have his hand nudged away by Sinestro’s.

“I should probably change them--”

“No. I can do it.”

Hal stops and pulls back to look at Sinestro incredulously. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” Sinestro says, flat. “I have accepted your help, but I’m not an invalid. I have no need to be _nursemaided_.” 

Hal cocks an unimpressed eyebrow. “One-handed?”

Sinestro opens his mouth to protest but seems to think better of it, lips pressing into a thin line of discontent. He looks back down as his arm, stiffly curling his hand into a fist, but hisses in pain when he tries to move it from the sling. Similar movements attempted with his other side have equal success, something inevitably pulling or pinching or otherwise aggravating any of his dozens of painful injuries. Begrudgingly, he huffs and turns his face away, silent permission for Hal to continue as he had intended. _That’s what I thought_ , Hal thinks with a smirk, and sets to work. 

Silence persists, but it’s not so terrible anymore. Hal is, for once, diligent in his work. He works to unwrap the bandages carefully, unwinding them from around Sinestro’s torso. He makes a face when the wound reveals itself, not much better than the last he’d seen it-- but, thankfully, not any worse, either. The stitches had held. Hal can sense Sinestro tensing as the last strip of gauze is peeled away.

“You know,” Hal speaks up casually, busying himself with cleaning what he can from the cut and getting fresh bandages ready. “I’m amazed how you managed to not bust this open during your whole stunt yesterday. Damn, _who_ or _what_ did this to you?”

“And I’m amazed that your primitive Earth ‘medicine’ hasn’t managed to kill me, yet,” Sinestro retorts dryly, neatly avoiding the question. _Well, there’s still time_ , Hal thinks, mouth twisting wryly. But, so long as Sinestro kept still, tense and stiffly held as he was, Hal was okay. 

As Hal winds the clean bandages back around Sinestro’s abdomen, he finds his eyes straying to the plains of his back.

There, seared into the skin, forever and permanently scarred, was the sigil of the Green Lantern Corps.

His breath catches without quite meaning to, the memory coming unbidden. 

A return to life, a half-mad grab for power-- emerald-green flames licking at Sinestro’s back despite the vacuum of space, pinned in place by an array of deadly-sharp arrow constructs sunk deep into his flesh through his chest.

In the heat of the moment, Hal hadn’t given any thought to it. He was fresh from the dead, Sinestro was fresh from _apparent_ death, and no sooner had Kyle released his volley of arrows had Sinestro unraveled at the seams and blinked away into the antimatter universe, taunting him all the while. All their subsequent encounters following gave him little chance to think about that night, and little reason to besides; considering the fight with a Parallax-possesed Ganthet immediately after, Sinestro’s fate was little more than a footnote in the grand scheme of things. 

Something akin to guilt settles suddenly and heavily in Hal’s stomach. Whether or not Sinestro deserved his punishment from the Guardians was debatable, but surely he didn’t deserve to be branded like _this,_ forever reminded of the Corps he’d felt abandoned him. Hal almost wants to reach out and _touch--_

“If you’re quite done…” intones Sinestro boredly, and Hal draws back, face heating for reasons he can’t quite pin down. 

“Yeah! All done, you’re wrapped and ready to go!”

“Fantastic,” Sinestro says, dry. 

Hal pulls away, but he doesn’t get up from the bed. He starts and stops, unsure of what to say, and Sinestro looks at him, suspicion and even a touch of _uncertainty_ bleeding back into his features. Hal figures it’s now or never, before the moment sours and Sinestro starts demanding that he leave.

“I thought--” Hal starts suddenly, when he sees Sinestro take a breath to speak. “I just thought, _maybe_ , since you seem to be in a better mood, we could… talk? Or, at least, we ask whatever it is we still want to know. How’s that? Is that fair?”

Sinestro considers it, expression guarded. “Fair,” he agrees finally, flat. A moment passes. “Why _are_ you helping me?”

“I told you, because I _want_ to,” replies Hal easily, shrugging. “And-- because I don’t think you would have come all this way if I _wasn’t_ going to help you. You used to call me a friend, once, you know. Not much more to it.”

It doesn’t seem like Sinestro quite believes him, which, _fine_ , Hal expected that, but whatever. _We’ll always be friends_ , Sinestro had once said. Hal clings to the memory as motivation.

“So. If you’re not happy to be here, why _did_ you come here in the first place?” Hal asks, somewhat tentatively. He didn’t want to risk setting him off again, but the need to _know_ persisted. 

Sinestro looks away, and Hal is already accepting the fact he’s not getting a straight answer anytime soon.

“A moment of foolish desperation, nothing more,” Sinestro answers simply, his tone leaving no room for argument even if Hal doesn’t quite believe _that_ , either. “The aid of a Green Lantern seemed most prudent against the enemies persisting after me at the time, and my ring simply deemed you the closest one. Don’t think that I consider you _special_.”

The closing comment stings unexpectedly, but Hal swallows it back easily enough; Sinestro threw around insults like they were confetti, and experience taught Hal they hardly ever really meant anything worthwhile.

Most of the time.

“Well, _who--_ ”

“Why _is_ my ring dead?” Sinestro asks, interrupting as he turns his attention to his ring hand, glowering distastefully down at the dull yellow metal, and Hal deflates with a small frown. “Moreover, when can I be expected to rid myself of this accursed arm sling?”

“It was already half dead when you got here, and it crapped out keeping you from going into shock and stable after you almost _bled out_ ,” Hal stresses for what feels like the upteenth time. At least he got Sinestro blinking in startled confusion at the crass use of slang out of it, the odd enamoring sight of it just enough to temper his growing annoyance. “And, uh. I don’t know anything about Korugarian physiology--” and that earns him a derisive snort from Sinestro “--but, I mean. You _did_ dislocate your shoulder. In humans, it’d be a week, maybe? You fractured your arm, which is why that’s wrapped up, and sprained your ankle pretty bad, which is why _that’s_ wrapped up, and _generally_ got put through the ringer, which is why you’re _generally_ covered with band-aids and bandages of all sorts. All in all… you’re not really getting rid of anything for at least a week or more, and you’re probably going to feel pretty shit for longer than that.”

Sinestro falls silent, reaching to idly trace the edges of a bandage plastered across his pectorals, expression oddly contemplative. 

“And you did all this? Yourself?”

“Yes…?” Hal answers slowly, unsure of where Sinestro is going with this. 

“No one knows I’m here?”

“I can’t speak for your Corps, but none of _my_ people, sure.” Sinestro’s band of militant lanterns would have likely found them by now if that were the case. 

Which, now that Hal thought about it, begged the question why they _hadn’t_ , why Sinestro had come to _him_ instead of sending a beacon to his people.

Hal notices Sinestro looking at him again, expression carefully blank but his eyes searching. For-- what, Hal couldn’t figure.

“I’m not one to kick a man when he’s down,” Hal soon elaborates, sensing the question as to _why_ on Sinestro’s mind, his tone gentle. “You were-- hurt. And you came to me. Some part of you obviously still trusts me, even if you refuse to admit it. I saw no reason to break that.”

Sinestro considers the statement, brows drawing together faintly. It’s difficult to tell whether it’s good or bad, the inherent alien nature of Sinestro’s unique microexpressions making Hal second guess himself. Hal decides to assume _good_ , considering the record amount of time it’s been since Sinestro insulted his intelligence and species as a whole.

“You were a means to an end,” Sinestro’s retort is final, deliberately impersonal. “My trust of you only extends as far as my confidence that you won’t kill me in my sleep.”

Jesus. Well, fine.

“Good _God_ , you’re a real piece of work, aren’t you?” Hal heaves a deep sigh, dragging his hands down his face. He stands and gestures flippantly towards the increasingly pathetic plate of crackers and glass of water. “Eat. Or don’t. If you promise to behave and don’t, I don’t know, try to climb out the window or anything, I’ll go buy some real food, later.”

He can see Sinestro bristle from the condescending edict to _behave_ , but thankfully does nothing more. Too bad Hal never learned when not to poke the bear. 

“So, get it? _Behave_ and you get to eat something other than dry crackers. How’s that, huh?”

Sinestro’s lip curls in disdain, a growl building in the back of his throat, and Hal and _so_ nearly tempted to prod further, but while Sinestro knows Hal won’t kill him in his sleep, Hal isn’t quite so sure Sinestro won’t kill _him_.

“But seriously, don’t try to climb out the window. We’re like twenty stories up. You’ll break both your legs and also maybe die for real,” Hal winks and shoots Sinestro finger guns as he exits the room, taking delight in Sinestro’s barely hidden befuddlement with the action. 

He sees Sinestro glance at what he no doubt considers paltry food offerings before leveling Hal with a sour look just as he leaves. Hal shrugs it off, confident that Sinestro won’t try anything. In any case, while he remained reluctant to actually ask for help, Hal knew Sinestro at least never hesitated to make his complaints known.

As an afterthought, Hal raises his hand, and a construct of a single crutch appears, leaning against the wall within reach of the bed, figuring whether or not Sinestro actually deigned to use it was entirely up to him. With a final jaunty salute, Hal takes his leave.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY........ I absolutely did not intend for this to be a "update once every six months" project but here I am. I'm unfortunately just an extraordinarily slow writer. With luck I will make a better attempt at update at least moderately more often.
> 
> On the plus side, now with fanart by my super awesome best friend @ufonaut! You can find it [here](https://ufonaut.tumblr.com/post/190258443368/there-in-the-balcony-doorway-was-sinestro-hal) and [ here!](https://ufonaut.tumblr.com/post/619221966384168960/okay-so-this-wont-make-sense-to-anyone-in-the) I want to thank here ESPECIALLY for being so patient with my snail's pace writing! YOU'RE THE BEST!
> 
> Not too much happens this chapter, but it's something!

The rest of the day goes by surprisingly uneventfully. 

Sinestro, even more surprisingly, is quiet. Well-- maybe it’s not _too_ much of a surprise, the more that Hal actually thinks about it. Given the extent of his injuries and blood loss, no matter how hard the man bluffed and blustered, he was bound to be exhausted no matter _what_ for a while yet. Bed rest was unfortunately going to be his best bet for the time being. 

Sensing that Sinestro likely wouldn’t take kindly to being checked up on every hour, Hal keeps tabs on him with his ring instead, an invisible thread of energy keeping track of the Korugarian’s vitals and whereabouts. The latter was probably excessive, given the above bed rest, but… it was best to be safe. Sinestro was still seconds away from bleeding out at any given moment, and another fall would be just the thing to set it off again.

Not that he _was_ likely to attempt that again, but Hal wouldn’t put it past him. 

In any case, Hal needed the peace of mind while sorting through everything he’d missed out on in the time since he’s last been on Earth. 

When his ring alerts him Sinestro’s passed out again, Hal decides it’s as good a time as any to risk heading out and getting food. 

“Hey, sleepyhead!” Hal calls out sometime later as he closes the door behind him, hands full of fast food bags. “Dinnertime! Told ya I’d get real food!”

He sets it on his table as muffled sounds of irritated grumbling drifts down from his bedroom. Hal waits, curious as the grumbling tapers off, finally ending with an annoyed, frustrated, “ _Jordan_.”

Sinestro is struggling to sit up when Hal comes into the room, breathing already coming out harsh with the effort, though he does surprisingly well to hide it. Hal gives it a second before stepping forward to help. At Sinestro’s withering glare, however, Hal dutifully steps back, hands up in acquience, though it doesn’t stop two constructs emerging from his ring. They take shape at the bedside, two glowing facsimiles of smiling nursing orderlies appearing on either side of Sinestro. He’s either too startled by their appearance or too distracted by pain to resist when they take him by his arms and gently ease him onto his feet. 

“What are you _doing_ ,” Sinestro snaps, though it’s obvious there’s not too much bark behind it; he’s already leaning heavily against one of the constructs, a secret relief to being out of bed but still yet to fully accept the notion of _help_.

“Dinner, I told you. Or, like, a really late lunch,” Hal says flippantly, turning as he exits back towards his little dining table, the constructs and a feeble Sinestro following suit. “I don’t know how often you actually eat, but you’ve _got_ to be hungry at this point. So, I went out and got some real food, like I promised.”

He’d figured Sinestro probably wouldn’t have taken too kindly to the whole _breakfast-in-bed_ ordeal. The least he could do was dignify him with letting him eat at a table.

That, and-- Hal was over his head enough as it was dealing with the rest of Sinestro’s injuries. The last thing he needed was to add _bedsores_ to the list. 

Sinestro, at least, doesn’t deign to complain any further, allowing the construct orderlies to lead him and help him into a chair with an air of quiet, if distinctly annoyed, resignation, frowning slightly all the while. Hal sits and pushes a hamburger towards him.

“This is _not_ food,” Sinestro sniffs. 

“Who says?” Hal retorts, already digging into his own burger without a care. Sinestro watches with thinly veiled disgust. 

“Korugarians have a more sensitive sense of smell than _humans_ , Jordan,” Sinestro continues as he daintily picks apart his hamburger with one hand. “And this smells _atrocious_. It’s nothing but grease and fat, and-- what _is_ this sauce?”

“It’s a secret,” Hal says, muffled through a mouthful of food. He swallows and wipes away some of said sauce from the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb before licking it off. He grins when he sees Sinestro staring disparagingly. “C’mon, I promise it’s food. I’m eating it, aren’t I?”

Sinestro only scoffs and finally resigns to put the burger back together in preparation of eating it. “I’ve had the unfortunate luck of witnessing you in the Oan mess hall on more than one occasion. Believe me, Jordan, you rival _Kilowog_ with how disgusting your eating habits can be.”

“Why were you watching me eat?”

“I _wasn’t--_ ” Sinestro sputters, then scowls at the sight of Hal’s grin. “It doesn’t matter. Where’s your cutlery?”

“My _what_.”

“Silverware? Eating utensils?” Sinestro says impatiently, distinctly condescending. “Is your power ring’s translator functioning correctly? I’m not about to eat with my _hands_ like an animal. A _fork_ and _knife_. Where are they?”

It’s hard not to burst out laughing once Hal finally realizes what Sinestro is asking for. He holds back a chuckle, thankfully muffled behind a closed fist and a mouthful of food, and doesn’t trust himself to speak until after he’s swallowed it back with some effort.

“Sinestro, it’s a _hamburger_. You’re _supposed_ to eat it with your hands.”

“That’s unsanitary,” Sinestro retorts, scowl deepening. “A _knife_ and _fork_.” He pauses, as though considering something, schooling his expression into something more neutral, adding a flat but grudging, “ _Please_.” 

Hal chews thoughtfully for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of arguing the matter further, before shrugging. “Yeah, fine,” he says, easy and slightly teasing. “But only because you said ‘please’.”

Finally apparently, if only temporarily, pleased, once given the requested cutlery Sinestro begins the arduous one-handed process of cutting apart his burger. He doesn’t bother to hide how displeased he still is with the look and smell of it, but _taste_ at least evidently proves to be no issue-- that, or Sinestro’s realized he’s in no position to be picky. He eats, if sparingly, delicately working around what Hal had offered him. 

“I was under the impression this wasn’t counted as ‘real’ food, among your people,” Sinestro grouses after a moment, frowning as he pokes his fork at a piece of limp lettuce. 

“Listen, I would have gotten, like, _real_ real food but this is about the most I can afford right now. Whenever I get a little more money I promise you’ll get whatever counts as an actual meal to you.”

“So. Why don’t you?” Sinestro states, matter-of-fact, like it’s obvious.

“Uh,” Hal blinks, unsure of what he was getting at. “Why don’t I, what?”

“Get more money.”

“Because I… need to work for it, first?” When all that earns him is a vaguely bored, unimpressed look, Hal is forced to continue. “Because I’m not paid to be a Green Lantern? And it’s not like I can hold a steady job when I spend half my time off-planet?”

Sinestro scoffs and rolls his eyes, and goes back to picking at his burger. “Oh, of course. I’d forgotten how regressive your planet is. You still consider _capitalism_ as a viable economic model.”

Hal opens his mouth to argue but just as quickly stops himself with a minor pout. Christ, and Hal had thought he’d heard enough of that from _Ollie_. Though, it’s not like he can be _too_ surprised-- it’s not like Sinestro’s had any real interaction with _any_ economy in well over a decade, if not longer. No need to actually _pay_ for things, when one was, say, dictator of an entire planet, or the head of his own entire lantern corps. 

It was maybe the _one_ significant downside of being a Green Lantern. The Guardians expected all the power contained in the ring and all the associated perks with it a more than sufficient payment for your services, the concept of _money_ to them almost as assuredly foreign to them as it was to Sinestro just now. 

All Hal does about it, however, is continue to pout and force himself to let it pass, returning to his food as well. “Okay, whatever. Let me borrow your copy of _Das Kapital_ sometime and I’ll consider it. Point being, my last off-world stint left me a little low on funds, and until I can get in Ferris Air’s good graces again you’re going to have to deal with Bat-Burger. You’re lucky I even still have this _apartment_.”

Sinestro, while still decidedly unimpressed and extremely obviously not in any way convinced, still seems to accept Hal’s answer for what it is and doesn’t press the issue further.

Although, Hal _does_ end up feeling _mildly_ bad when he polishes off his burger and notices Sinestro was still yet to make much of a dent in his, only really prodding it intermittently with his fork in between grimacing nibbling bites. Alright, so _maybe_ he should have made a better attempt at finding out what Sinestro would actually eat.

“Are... you not hungry?” Hal asks, careful not to sound _too_ concerned. “I mean, if it’s _that_ terrible I can try getting something else.”

“Forgive me, Jordan, for not exactly having the best _appetite_ when I remain in a great deal of _pain_ ,” Sinestro mutters, glaring daggers across the table, though the effect is lost when he winces at the end of it. He glowers down at the remaining food and shoves it away, either unable to stomach it or simply frustrated with himself for admitting weakness in front of _Hal_. Hal frowns, chewing on the inside of his cheek in thought.

It-- would make sense, honestly, and he’s kicking himself for not considering it sooner. After a good day and a half, with all the adrenaline long gone and no longer so chronically exhausted, Sinestro’s laundry list of traumatic injuries were bound to catch up to him. It’s certainly given his skin time to bloom with dark bruises, grotesque and purple and no doubt just as painful as everything else.

“I could give you something to help, if you’d like?” Hal offers tentatively, still careful. Sinestro glances up, expression guarded, but says nothing. “You know, uh. Painkillers. At least for a little bit.”

It’s no big surprise to Hal that Sinestro doesn’t answer, still too proud to admit help and too stubborn to say anything about it, but-- he relents in his own way, a silent surrender shown by the way his jaw sets and how he looks away, not outright saying _yes_ but unable to deny his own desire for it.

A casual inquiry to the ring reveals a small list of human medications compatible with Korugarian physiology. Of which, Hal knows he has at least one bottle stashed somewhere in case of emergencies. Sinestro watches, wary and ever-silent as he goes to retrieve it and returns with two pills placing them on the table in front of him. Sinestro’s eyes suddenly sharpen with suspicion, at which Hal sighs. 

“They’ll help. _Really_. Would I poison you?” Sinestro’s dubious glaring continues. “Would I poison you _intentionally_?”

“I suppose not,” Sinestro eventually concedes, begrudging, though he’s obviously no closer to trusting the offered medicine, even as he picks one of the pills up to examine critically. “Accidentally? I have no doubt.”

“C’mon,” Hal pleads. “I asked the ring and everything. It said they’re safe. They’ll make the pain more manageable. You’ll feel better.”

Sinestro stares a moment longer, half-scowls at the pill still in his hand, before ultimately deciding wanting relief from the wound in his side was far preferable to enduring it to spite Hal and swallowing it. Hal breathes a small sigh of relief before he can help it, unexpectedly comforted by the notion.

“Okay. Well. I’d still try to eat, if I were you,” Hal continues lightly, cleaning up his remains. “Otherwise you’re going to feel starving before too long no matter what.”

“I don’t need you _mothering_ me, Jordan,” Sinestro sneers, though much of the venom is lost on Hal due to the sorry state of-- well, _everything_. The feared leader of the Sinestro Corps doesn’t look _quite_ so fearful sitting shirtless at a cheap dining table with a half-eaten fast food burger in front of him, beaten up, covered in bandages, and more than a little disheveled. Hal almost feels bad for him. 

_Almost_.

“Just trying to help,” Hal shrugs and, figuring Sinestro might appreciate the space, retreats to his couch to wait it out.

Things fall into an uneasy silence, then. 

Sinestro eats what he can, and when Hal glances over to see his head drooping, guesses the painkillers might have finally kicked in and it was probably high time to help him back to bed. The construct orderlies make a reappearance, and this time there’s no resistance or cutting remark when they take him in hand and help him up, just a resigned sort of acceptance. It-- doesn’t sit as well with Hal as he’d thought. Just an odd sort of queasiness settling in his stomach, similar to how he’d felt when Sinestro had first shown up.

Okay, so maybe he does feel a _little_ bad. 

“You’re looking crabbier than usual,” Hal says, leaning against the doorway, noticing the slight twist to Sinestro’s expression as he was being laid to bed. His default expression, honestly, but it concerns Hal enough to at least ask about it, if only to be polite. Whether or not Sinestro deigned to answer was up to him. “Something on your mind?”

“My _ring_ ,” Sinestro begins, terse. Whether from annoyance at the ring, the sheer energy it was taking him just to focus through the increasing fog of painkillers, or even just the continuing frustration at being unable to wield his left arm in any real capacity. “I should have at least _some_ charge by now, just from background residual fear energy. In a city as big as this, with all the _people_ \-- it’s a given. I don’t understand how it’s still… _dead_.”

“You can thank yourself for that,” Hal huffs with a small laugh, and at Sinestro’s disparaging look he makes a face. “What? It’s true! You know what Coast City is known as, right?”

“Should I?” Sinestro drones sardonically. 

“ _The City Without Fear_ ,” Hal retorts with a wink. “Thanks in part to that silly little invasion force you had a while back. Also in part to that whole being _wiped off the map_ ordeal. Either way, the people who live here don’t scare too easily, so I doubt you’re likely to get a charge on your own for a good while.” He pauses, considering, before tentatively continuing. “But…if you’re _really_ wanting to be put in contact with your corps, now that you’re not… _quite_ as close to death’s door, I think I still have a line to Soranik--”

“No!” Sinestro says too quickly, interrupting. “I mean-- _no_. It can wait. You were right, what… you had said, before. She doesn’t need to see me like this, and neither do my people. I can… deal without my ring, in the meantime.”

Hal frowns slightly, put off by the sudden cageiness of Sinestro’s answer, but wisely decides not to ask about it; for all the fuss Sinestro had kicked up earlier about having to stay with him earlier, the abrupt refusal to be given back to his people seemed _odd_ , to say the least. Hal would be lying if he said he was complaining, the notion of Sinestro _staying_ , if only for a few days more, brings an equally odd sort of relief in him.

“If you say so,” Hal says, shrugging. “Say, since you’re so against being mothered, you probably won’t mind if I leave for a bit, right?”

The drowsiness that had been steadily gathering in Sinestro’s eyes sharpens suddenly in-- alarm? Panic? Suspicion? Like he was expecting it to be a _test_. “What do you mean, _leave_?”

“Remembering that whole ordeal about needing a job to get money?” Hal points out, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “I figure now’s as good a time as any. It’s not like you’re in any state to go anywhere still, and that painkiller more or less ensures you’re not even gonna _want_ to, besides. As fun as this _truly_ is, you don’t _actually_ want me to sit here and _babysit_ you the whole time, do you?”

Sinestro opens his mouth as if preparing to protest, but ultimately decides against it and settles on a mildly perturbed frown. “... _No_ ,” he eventually agrees, a touch petulant.

“Swell,” Hal says with a smile, clapping his hands together. “I shouldn’t be gone too long, just gotta touch bases with a mutual acquaintance of ours, and by the end of the evening I should _hopefully_ have enough of a job to keep us both going for the time being.”

“Carol,” Sinestro surmises flatly without looking up, starting to settle into bed. Hal makes a face at that, some part of him annoyed that _Carol_ is apparently allowed to be on a first name basis with Sinestro, and not _him_.

“...Yeah, her,” Hal confirms with a small pout; it was annoying how Sinestro always managed to snatch the wind from his sails with the smallest of gestures. “Amazing how the Queen of the Zamarons still manages to find time to run an entire airfield and aeronautics company, huh. Anyways, my ring will still have a line on you if you need anything. Otherwise, I’d just sleep off those painkillers. All good?”

He doesn’t get an answer from Sinestro, then, the other man having arranged the pillows to his preferred comfort and laying facing away, his back to Hal. Well, alright. It was as good a dismissal as any.

Despite his flippant announcement that he was leaving, Hal still hesitates, lingering in the doorway. He hadn’t been lying that he trusted Sinestro to stay put, if only because he was still so weak, he just-- wasn’t quite sure _why_ he was still so reluctant. 

Maybe it _was_ a test. He would have had to leave Sinestro alone in his apartment at some point, he knows. A part of Hal-- the same part that he knows for a _fact_ is always what leads him to believe in Sinestro, that _hope_ that keeps him coming back, again and again --also knows it’s better to do it _sooner_ rather than _later_ , to foster a sense of trust between them, however tentative that trust was. Sure, there was the chance allowing himself that trust so quickly and easily would come back to bite him in the ass, as it usually (almost _always_ ) did, but… what was one more time, really? Maybe _this_ time, it’d be different.

The thought makes Hal laugh when he finally gets around to leaving, regrettably all too aware of his own predictability. He shrugs on his jacket as he steps out onto the balcony and wills himself into flight, the Green Lantern uniform molding itself over his body in an instant as he takes off across the sky towards the Ferris Airfield. 

It’s pretty late by the time Hal gets back, and he’s just edging on tired enough to view another night of sleeping on his couch with something more than his usual resignation. As used to it as he unfortunately is, being the self-professed _champion_ of couch-surfing due to his continuing inability to balance that precious superhero work/life balance, it never meant he had ever grown to actually _like_ it.

Carol didn’t appreciate him intruding on her evening office hours-- then again, she tends not to appreciate his visits all that much as a rule --but she _was_ willing to entertain him with a maybe-definitely under-the-table part-time job filing paperwork for her. 

(As well as loaning him some money to help him get through a couple more days, considering Hal _had_ promised Sinestro he was going to try getting something he’d actually like to eat, though it wasn’t like he could tell her _that_.)

It’s quiet, almost worryingly so, when Hal steps back through his balcony doors, but a quick check with his ring confirms Sinestro is exactly where he’d left him. Asleep and-- _well_. As well as he can be, anyhow. 

Tomorrow would be the third day he’s had Sinestro under his care. And, so far, it hasn’t been _too_ bad an arrangement. Hal considers himself satisfied with his own handiwork, and Sinestro surprisingly hasn’t been too bad of a houseguest. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad, after all.

 _Knock on wood_ , Hal can’t help but think wryly, settling in on his couch; he’d finally had the forethought to get some spare pillows and blankets together and make it _moderately_ more comfortable. Hopefully, it’s not an arrangement he’ll have to endure for _too_ long.

Oddly, the thought doesn’t bring him as much relief as he’d hoped.

It’s early. _Again_. Hal groans and clambers for the source of the incessant buzzing in his ears that had woken him up, hoping for the love of _god_ Sinestro doesn’t end up being the only one to get any goddamn beauty rest around here. Early mornings and rude awakenings had been commonplace during training, sure, when Sinestro had taken it upon himself to be his mentor during his early days in the corps-- but if this was proving to be a _pattern_ then Hal was extremely close to reconsidering his previous decision _not_ to hand Sinestro over to the proper authorities.

The buzzing turns out to be the alarm set through his ring, which Hal only discovers when he flops out of the couch onto a hard landing on the floor. Hal swears as he untangles himself from his blanket and sincerely hopes that psychic alarm clocks are the absolute _last_ things to ever get invented. It’s a moment before Hal gathers the mental willpower necessary to silence it, and another before he even remembers _why_ he’d set the alarm in the first place.

_Sinestro._

“ _Shit_ , what’s wrong?” Hal demands, scrambling to his feet. Dozens of possibilities sprang to mind, unbidden: he’d run off, his people found him, he’d hurt himself, he was bleeding, he was _dying--_

He bolts up and across the space of the living area to his bedroom, throwing open the door to find Sinestro sprawled on the floor, leaning against the bed, scowling as he ripped at the bandaged wrappings around his abdomen. Hal manages to process the sight just as his ring comes through with a belated _Sinestro has fallen and has disturbed his wound dressings_.

“What do you think you’re _doing_!” Hal snaps and leaps forward, ignoring Sinestro’s snarling to swat his hand away from the blood-stained gauze. “I told you to call me if you needed help!”

“And _I_ told _you_ I don’t need your _mothering_ , Jordan!” Sinestro snaps right back, shoving at Hal. He growls something indecipherable, frustration clearly evident even in the words Hal can’t make out as he goes back to ripping at the gauze. “The bandages-- they _itch_. It’s insufferable, I can't stand it--”

“Yeah, that’s because they need to be _changed_ , ya _dingus_ ,” Hal grouses. He snatches at Sinestro’s free wrist and forces it to the side. Sinestro snarls again, but any attempt to rip out of Hal’s grip only results in some failed ineffectual tugging; still so weak, he doesn’t put up too much more of a fight.

“Don’t _touch_ me,” Sinestro spits. Hal’s mouth twists, but he lets go. Thankfully, Sinestro doesn’t go for the bandages again. He only sits there, eyes closed, head back against the bed, breathing heavily.

Hal sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look. I-- I thought we had come to an understanding. Not _much_ of one, granted, but one nonetheless. I’m here to _help_ you, I _want_ to help. And-- get this --you _need_ help. What isn’t clicking?”

Sinestro doesn’t answer. Hal takes it as whatever permission he deems necessary and helps Sinestro up to set him back on the bed, pulls the first aid kit out from under it, and sets to work fixing what he can. There’s a tense silence between them, made even more fraught by the fact Sinestro _had_ indeed bled through the bandages, all his blind clawing at that crawling itching that came with a wound slowly trying to stitch itself back together. Sinestro sits there, stewing in his frustration, as Hal replaces the dressings with clean ones. The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife, but Hal for the life of him can’t place _why_ other than Sinestro’s general pissyness.

“Okay, I give up,” Hal starts, finishing off the last wrapping. “Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed, or what? Yesterday you seemed willing enough to do this, but now-- seriously, what’s up?”

“Beds do not have ‘wrong sides’,” Sinestro retorts sullenly, deigning to look down at Hal’s handiwork and sneer. “I told you. I’m not an _invalid_. I don’t need your constant checkups and insistence on _help_. I’m not used to medicine so crude, so _forgive_ me when I express my frustrations in _whatever way I deem fit._ ”

The last words are hissed through clenched teeth, dripping with venom, and Hal has to fight the urge to sigh, _again_. Okay, so it’s Sinestro mad that after three days he’s really not all that much better than when he arrived. Probably in a lot of pain again now that the painkillers have worn off. He can work with that. 

“Alright. Admittedly, not a lot I can do there,” Hal admits, and tries to offer another suggestion, doing his best to remain amicable despite his own growing frustration. “What about another painkiller? It could help you be more comfortable.”

“ _No_ ,” Sinestro says sharply, which actually takes Hal by surprise. “I disliked how it muddled my thoughts and slowed my actions. I will not be _drugged_ into complacency while being held here.”

“I wasn’t trying to _drug_ you, I was trying to _help_!” Hal snaps in irritation, suddenly indignant as he jumps to his feet. “You’re _hurt_! You have a gaping _hole_ in your side and you’re still so anemic you literally have the _bare minimum_ amount of blood needed to even stay _conscious_!” Hal reins himself, then, and smiles complacently. It was clear his patience was readily wearing thin, but he might as well give Sinestro what he wants, right? “Okay. I _can_ stop my ‘constant’ check-ups, actually. On one condition.”

Sinestro’s glare shifts up to him, a touch wary and dubious of actually getting his way. Hal simply smiles again, extends his ring, and around Sinestro’s neck manifests a high, cone-shaped collar, like the kind _animals_ were usually given. There’s a blissful, beautiful second of silent before Sinestro starts sputtering in righteous indignity, scrabbling at the edges of the construct with his one good hand. Hal just steps back to admire his work, arms crossed across his chest.

“What is the _meaning_ of this--”

“Well, I _can_ leave you alone to wallow in your self-misery, if you _really_ want me too, but I’m not exactly sure I can _trust_ to leave you to your own devices after what you just pulled,” Hal explains casually, shrugging. “Pets who can’t leave their injuries well enough alone get the _cone of shame_ , so you do too.”

“Cease this _humiliation_!” Sinestro snarls, and it’s only because Hal _does_ actually feel a little bad about it that he allows the construct to dissolve. It does _not_ , however, cause Sinestro’s downright murderous glare to become any less murderous.

“You’re not being ‘held’ here, by the way,” Hal continues, in an effort to be diplomatic. “ _You_ agreed to stay and _you_ refused my offer to call your daughter who’s an _actual trained doctor_!"

“Because I don’t need _her_ help, either,” Sinestro snaps, hand rubbing at his neck where the collar had clung, quick to swallow his shame from it. “I don’t want _any_ of my people to see me like this.”

“Then what do you want me to do, Sinestro? Call the Corps? Would you really rather be stuck in a _sciencell_ than be around me?”

“I’d rather be another mindless slave of the _Indigo Tribe_ than have to sit and suffer one more day of your _idiocy_!”

It stings before Hal can tell himself to expect it. That was Sinestro’s unfortunate habit-- if he felt backed into a corner, he would sooner lash out with all that he had rather than admit any sort of defeat or vulnerability, aiming right where he knew it would hurt.

They were each just being assholes on purpose, at this point, but Sinestro’s stubbornness was wearing on Hal faster than he’d like to admit. Why couldn’t Sinestro just _let him help_ …

Hal takes a long, centering breath. He tries to tell himself it’s fine. Sinestro didn’t mean it. He’s just in pain and defensive. 

That didn’t mean Hal had to deal with it, however.

“You wouldn’t happen to know any English, would you?”

Sinestro stops, blinking, before barking out a laugh.

“What? Your _language_?” Sinestro scoffs, grinning mockingly. “ _Your_ language, of the hundreds upon _hundreds_ that originate upon this backwater planet you call _home_? If Earth were more like _Korugar_ , a singular people with one, singular language--”

“You mean the planet that kicked you out for being a fascist dickhead?” Hal says drolly. “Just answer the question, Sin.”

Sinestro sneers at the nickname, but deigns to respond anyhow. “No. Why would I bother? It’s beneath me. In any case, our respective power rings make learning additional languages laughably unnecessary.”

“Uh-huh. And which one of us had a _working_ power ring, right now?” counters Hal casually, lifting his ring hand and wiggling his fingers. 

Sinestro’s eyes narrow suspiciously, a hint of warning entering his voice. “Jordan…”

“Because, y’know, as much as I _love_ to listen to you crow about your superiority, and trust me, I _do_ ,” Hal continues offhandedly, slowly and casually working the gleaming green ring off his finger. “I’m kind of… tired of it? Especially if I’m not gonna get a word in edgewise, anyways.”

“Jordan, don’t you _dare--_ ” Sinestro snaps indignantly, rising from the bed.

Hal smiles placidly, and finally plucks the ring off his finger just as Sinestro begins berating him all over again. 

The abrupt loss of understanding is as disorienting as ever, downright dizzying as the telepathic field that enables the universal translator of his ring retracts and words gradually begin to make less and less sense, until they’re nothing more than a nonsensical jumble of unfamiliar consonants and vowels. 

Hal’s smug grin only lasts as long as it takes for the sounds of what must be Sinestro’s native tongue to hit his ears fully. Briefly, he can’t help but be fascinated.

Sinestro is still speaking, fervorous and incensed, but what Hal hears of Korugarian is nothing more than a series of rapidly rolling notes, high and trilling and absolutely _enrapturing_. It sounds like the strangest combination of the rumbling growling of a big cat and the warbling yowling of a significantly _smaller_ cat. Hal can’t help but stare despite the still-ongoing tirade of no doubt incredibly uncouth and increasingly inappropriate language. 

“Yeah, whatever, keep talking,” Hal eventually retorts, pantomiming Sinestro’s angry rambling with his hand like a talking puppet. He knows Sinestro similarly won’t be able to understand _him_ , either, but it’s the _principle_ of the matter goading him on. “It’s literally _in one ear, out the other_ right now. You used to always say that about me anyways. Hell, you probably _still_ say that about me. Why not make it true?” 

Sinestro stops speaking all at once as the realization suddenly hits him, eyes going wide in a split-second of panic before furrowing in pure fury. He launches into another rapid-fire rant but Hal bears the brunt of it without a shred of concern, utterly unrepentant as he regards the Yellow Lantern with a deliberately unimpressed twist of his lips. 

The rant peters out again, leaving Sinestro gaping and his fist clenched, his frustration palpable and buzzing the air around him like a swarm of angry bees. His words, for once, have no effect on Hal, and he’s subsequently at a loss as to what to do next. It’s _far_ more satisfying than Hal is willing to admit. 

“When you’re ready to talk,” Hal says, slow and exaggerating the enunciating of his words, complete with equally exaggerated miming gestures, despite knowing full well Sinestro likely wouldn’t understand any of it anyways. “I’ll put the ring back on, and we’ll talk. _Capiche?_ ” 

Sinestro only blinks blankly in response, as expected, but Hal likes to think _something_ managed to get through to him even with the galaxy-wide language barrier between them. He smiles, more self-satisfied than anything, and leaves the room to let Sinestro stew in silence.

And, for a while, it actually seems to work. Hal’s pretty proud of himself for that. He can occasionally hear Sinestro mutter words that remain nonsensical to his ears without the aid of the ring, but as his tone continues to carry the distinct cadence of someone lobbying scathing insults, Hal continues to ignore them, settling in on his couch for an evening of mindless television. 

Until--

“ _Jordan._ ”

Hal pauses in the middle of his absent channel-surfing, attention immediately caught by the singular use of his name. It had been swallowed up by the nature of Sinestro’s language before then, Korugarian’s apparent lack of a hard _J_ sound leaving the pronunciation almost unrecognizable in the midst of the rest of his trilling words. Sinestro’s mouth is clumsy around the comparatively alien name without the ring’s translator to bolster him, the _R_ in the middle rolling unnecessarily and _J_ softening, until it ends up sounding more like _Zhor-rrr-dan_. 

“ _Jor_ \-- Jordan?” A word spat in exasperation that sounds like an expletive. “Jordan!” A pause, tentative. “...Hal?”

 _Now_ Hal is interested. Sinestro hardly ever deigns to use his _first_ name. “You ready to behave?” Hal calls out, only _slightly_ teasing. That, apparently, is _solely_ what Sinestro picks up on, and it only succeeds in setting him off all over again, a long string of angrily growled words the only answer Hal is given in response. Hal sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose in mild exasperation. He was _really_ beginning to regret helping Sinestro, now.

“Fuck!”

The loud, barked shout echoes through the apartment, heavy silence following in its wake. Hal is too stunned to react, staring open-mouthed in the direction it came from. How the _hell--_

“Fuck! _Fuck!_ ” 

Okay. So, apparently Sinestro _did_ , in fact, know _some_ English. 

Just. Not at all the kind of English Hal expected.

Hal bolts off the couch as Sinestro continues to shout _fuck_ at the top of his lungs as though his life depended on it. 

“What the _hell_ , man--” Hal tries to interject, shouting over Sinestro and running right up to the edge of his bed. “Dude, I have neighbors! You can’t just _do_ that! Who the _fuck_ taught you that?”

Sinestro only scowls petulantly back at him as he struggles to get out of bed, every movement still stiff with pain but eyes ablaze with single minded determination. He limps with considerable difficulty towards Hal until he’s close enough to jab a finger squarely in his chest, snapping something unintelligible, ending it with a clear and punctuated “ _Hal Jordan._ ”

Well. Hal supposes that answers that.

Hal huffs. “You know,” he says, flatly. “That doesn’t exactly count as _behaving_.”

Not the answer Sinestro is looking for, evidently. The scowl deepens and Sinestro visibly bristles before roaring an ear-ringing _fuck_ directly in Hal’s face. 

The ridiculousness of the whole situation suddenly dawns on him and Hal has to swallow back a snort of laughter. That, apparently, is the exact _opposite_ of what Sinestro expects as well, confusion flickering over his expression briefly before the scowl returns. Hal can see him inhale sharply in preparation for another shout, and as much as Hal is honestly beginning to enjoy this, he’d rather avoid someone knocking on his door for a noise complaint; the next shout dies abruptly before it can even leave Sinestro’s chest, Hal stopping him with a light touch to his shoulder. All the fight leaves Sinestro in a long, slow exhale through flared nostrils. For now, anyways. He continues to stare down defiantly at Hal, jaw set.

“Okay, _fine_. You’ve made your point,” Hal relents, though his mouth remains twisted in clear amusement. Sinestro huffs and swats his hand away. Hal steps back, hands up in acquiescence. He pulls his ring out of his pocket and holds it up between thumb and forefinger, eyebrow raised. “If I put this back on, will you stop being such an _asshole_ and actually let me help you?” 

Sinestro’s golden eyes dart between Hal and the ring. Hal doesn’t know how much of that Sinestro actually understood, but whatever the case, it was evidently enough. Sinestro puffs his chest out, chin jutting up in defiance-- and he nods, stiff and begrudging. Hal smirks, just shy of outright smug, and primly slides the ring back over his finger, willing the universal translator back into effect.

“Did you have a nice tantrum?” Hal asks sweetly, laying the sugar on thick.

Sinestro’s eyes narrow, lips pressed into a thin, dissatisfied line. His nostrils flair again.

“I did, actually,” Sinestro sneers, ever petulant. He seems to rein himself in easily enough, regaining his usual air of superiority with a tight, forced smile. “Disabling your ring’s translator may have been for the better. I fear the words I said were not for the faint of heart. Wouldn’t want to cause offense to my ever so _gracious_ host. Now…” Sinestro grimaces, swaying slightly where he stands, rubbing at his temple as though staving off a headache. “I might have-- overexerted myself, in all that excitement. I’m feeling faint, and I would… _appreciate_ your assistance if you could help me back to bed.”

Hal rolls his eyes, but agrees nonetheless, coming around his side so that Sinestro can lean on him for support and he can guide him back to bed. 

“I really _am_ just trying to help you, you know,” Hal grouses, though his heart obviously isn’t very into it, helping Sinestro back into bed with due diligence. “Not everything has to have an ulterior motive.”

Sinestro is silent, pointedly avoiding meeting Hal’s eyes, looking away. Hal shrugs it off, lips pressing in a thin line as he runs a hand down his face as he considered his options.

It was _fine_ , really. To be expected. Sinestro wasn’t used to any sort of weakness, even less so to needing help. Worse, help from a Green Lantern. Double worse, help from _Hal_. 

So. Hal could get it. _Really_. He would just have to deal with Sinestro coming to terms with all that in his own time.

However long it was going to take until Sinestro was healed enough to get out of his hair was no doubt going to end up feeling _far_ longer than it needed to be. 

“Okay. How about we… use our _words_ , for once,” Hal starts, tentative. “Tell me what I can do for you, Sinestro, and, to the best of my ability, I will do it. Anything you want to make it feel less like you’re being held against your will. Within reason, obviously, but-- seriously, _anything_.”

The silence persists a moment longer, before Sinestro slowly strokes at his jaw, considering; Hal notices with minor alarm how _rough_ Sinestro abruptly looks, his normally precise and clean-shaven look having slowly been worn away over the past couple days, hair in disarray and a shadow of growth coming on his face.

“Actually,” Sinestro says flatly, carefully neutral as he looks back up at Hal. “I’d like to shave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr @slaapkat!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm slaapkat on tumblr!


End file.
